


if you kiss my cold, clay lips

by joyyjpg



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, F/M, Kissing, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 12:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5164391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joyyjpg/pseuds/joyyjpg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail takes another step closer to him and the chaos stops momentarily. Like the iris shot of a silent movie, his focus zeroes in on her while everything else ceases to exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you kiss my cold, clay lips

**Author's Note:**

> prompt used: things you said after you kissed me. title from "the unquiet grave."

The world goes still. For Will, everything is always chaos, a mess of sensations, thoughts, feelings – especially now as he feels his grip on reality slipping a little further each day. So in all honesty, he couldn’t tell you if this is real or not.

It feels real.

Abigail takes another step closer to him and the chaos stops momentarily. Like the iris shot of a silent movie, his focus zeroes in on her while everything else ceases to exist. The muffled yipping of the dogs in the distance, the crunch of fallen snow beneath their boots, the whispers in the back of his mind telling him he should stop this before it starts, all go unnoticed for one brief, quiet moment.

She lifts herself up onto the tips of her toes and presses her cold lips to his.

For a second he stands frozen, eyes still open, unsure of what to do. His first instinct is to back away, mutter some half-apology and walk away; that’s what he _should_ do. But as she pushes more insistently against him, he presses back, closes his eyes and kisses her. His hands curl into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to move to her waist, her face, anywhere. He rarely lets himself touch her. He can’t trust himself – afraid that he might hurt her, crush her, _kill_ her, or that he simply might never want to let go.

She pulls away, steps back, and the world reemerges. The snowy forest around them is blinding now, the dogs’ whining and barking pierces his ears. Abigail looks otherworldly, almost like a ghost; her dark hair, bright eyes, and colorful scarf stand out against her pale face, as white as the snow. She’s unreadable – she always is. For someone who sees too much, senses too much, the mystery of her is as comforting as it is unnerving. Sometimes he wishes he knew what she was thinking, other times he’s glad he doesn’t.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet but firm, words uncurling from her lips like the fog. “That can never happen again.”

 _Yes. Absolutely._ They need to close that door and lock it, throw away the key. This is completely out of the realm of appropriate and the best thing they can both do is put it behind them.

But even as he manages to nod in agreement, as he watches her walk away with Winston at her heels, he feels gutted. She’s cut him open and left him to bleed out onto the snow. He has no right to wish things could be different, but as he lingers behind her a moment more, he _does_.

He tucks it all away and heads back to the house, content as he can be to believe that none of it ever happened at all.


End file.
